A Couple of Short Ones

by John B. Anderson

The Heating Plant – The high school, the junior high and the old gym were heated by a spectacular heating system. During my six years in junior high and high school, the boiler had only failed once, and that was the only day that school was closed. The huge steam boiler was heated by a gigantic furnace. A large hopper fed stoker coal into the furnace to keep the water hot at all times. Dick Berger and Joe Wood kept the hopper full, and kept all of us warm.

Certain teachers liked to hang out at the boiler room. Mr. Bonifas, Mr. Ebli and Mr. Reque stopped by to get the latest on the JV basketball team, and to catch a smoke between classes. I'm sure that other teachers who had the habit joined them.

The hot steam from the boiler was carried underground along the north side of the auditorium/study hall. There was a manhole cover along the way for maintenance access that seemed relatively secure – but not really. Another way to access the steam tunnel was to lift one of the student desks along the north side of the study hall. The tunnel was usually dark (how did I know this?).

With that backdrop, Bill and I had just finished a refreshing swim at the quarry one summer's evening. He and I were headed past the high school, on our way to the pool hall. As we walked past the back of the building, one of the windows of the East Room flew open, and Bob, Greg, and Ron crawled out. We asked, “What the hell are you guys doing?”

“We're not doing anything. We had late play practice.”

The next morning, Mr. Frederickson was greeted by the huge statue of Uranus, right at the door. The fire hose was wound up the railings of the down staircase. How in the world did all of that happen? By the way, where is the statue of Uranus, today?

Scar Tissue – At one of our class reunions, probably the fortieth of the forty-fifth, we gathered at the Elks Club to catch up. For some reason, Ron, Dick and I decided to compare scars. I had a good one from a car accident, due to the repair of my tibia plateau. Dick had a couple of good ones from surgeries. Ron had had a heart attack, so, as a result, had a long scar on his leg.

I exclaimed, “Gee, Ron, yours is longer than mine.”

“Always was, Andy.”

The party palace – Some winters, when it got really cold, Doc and Virginia would take off for Cuba, leaving the house to Pat and Mike. The Great Lakes ships on which Mike and his friends worked would pull into dry dock the first week in November. Mike, then, would invite Frank, Frank, Butch, Gerald, and a few others to party at his home, or even stay the night. These older boys were a lot of fun. We would engage them in poker, after they'd had a few, and we could finance our way through high school. Sometimes, we could even get a beer or two, but never enough to dull our poker skills.

Frank and Gloria were super nice to us younger boys. Frank let us take his new Packard for a spin one night, so were drove downtown looking for someone to race with, as the Packard was one fast car. Sometimes, the older boys would pick up some high school girls, and bring them to the house. That was always a treat to catch a glimpse of women in their underwear running around the upstairs.

One evening, we had nothing to do, so the other Frank volunteered to take us for a ride around town. We checked out the downtown, the evening Soo Line Train, and Frank started driving down to the ferry docks. The car ferry had just arrived from Lower Michigan. Mr. Case, my tenth grade English teacher, had just arrived on the ferry, and he was walking down the road toward town. Mr. Case rented a room from Mr. Cousineau, as Mr. Case's family was still downstate.

Frank said that we should give Mr. Case a ride, as it was a long way for him to walk to Mr. Cousineau's house. We pleaded with Frank not to do it, because Frank had a tendency to cuss a lot. Frank promised that he would watch his mouth, and he stopped and asked Mr. Case if he wanted a ride. Mr. Case got in the car, thanking Frank and us for picking him up.

Everything was fine, until a rabbit darted out in front of Frank's car.

“F**k!”

Nice going, Frank. Now, we're all going to flunk tenth grade English. As it turned out, Mr. Case was very forgiving.

Christmas in Manistique

by John B. Anderson

I loved Christmas when I was a boy in Manistique. We always had a lot of snow. One year, I got a new sled from Santa. For the rest of Christmas vacation, I was to be found at the sand hills. Ron used to drive his sled over a jump near the bottom of the hill. I did that once. Other daring deeds were sledding down the, “Man Killer,” and “The Nut Cracker.” Both of those adventures lived up to their names.

At Lakeside Elementary and at church, we had to memorize parts of a play, so we didn't embarrass our parents. The program a church had Vi Pavlot singing, “Oh Holy Night.” The beauty of her voice sent shivers up my spine.

Christmas Eve always reminded me that I was Swedish. We would always celebrate Christmas Eve at Aunt Hildur's, along with Uncle Ed, Ruth, Lois and Elizabeth, my cousins. We were always late for dinner, because my dad had to have a Christmas drink with the other staff at the drugstore. He didn't want to seem ungracious leave the party early, as he got his bonus at the time, usually $100. (That's back when $100 was $100.) When we arrived at Aunt Hildur's, we were greeted with the smell of lute fisk. I went through the front door, stifled my urge to vomit, and gave everyone a big smile.

Outside of the lute fisk, the rest of the Christmas Eve meal was wonderful. We ate potato sausage, boiled potatoes, Limpa bread and rice pudding. There was conversation about which grocery had the best potato sausage, and Smitty's IGA won the prize each time. My mom would ask Aunt Hildur for her Limpa recipe, but Aunt Hildur would only say, “I make it differently each time. There is no recipe.

After supper, we would gather around the Christmas tree, and distribute the gifts. Their tree always had some large outside lights, which I really loved, as the lights on our tree back home were a lot smaller. Most of the time, my gift would be a pretty shirt from the People's Store, where Aunt Hildur and Ruth worked.

Christmas morning at our house had its own rituals. I could open one present before breakfast. I always went after the biggest one. For breakfast, mom would fix grapefruit baskets. In the middle of each basket was a maraschino cherry. After breakfast, we would open our family gifts, then just lay around in our pajamas for a couple of hours. My best gift ever, was an American Flyer train set. Later, when we got dressed, we headed down the block to see what the other kids had gotten.

One year, Sandy had just broken up with one of her boyfriends, (probably, Eddie,) so she was feeling pretty sad. I kept playing Elvis Presley's “I'll have a blue, blue, Christmas.” She got really pissed at me. During those years, Sandy and I weren't really all that tight. We, eventually, got over it.

We had lots to do over the two week holiday. When we were smaller, we would chase the Sno-Go down the street, to stand in the snow being sprayed beyond the catching truck. Mom yelled at us, saying the Sno-Go might pick up a rock and send it at our heads. Impervious to danger, we did it anyway, never telling mom again. The skating rink was a lot of fun. Mr. Schmidt would keep the warming house nice and toasty, while we played, “Crack the Whip.” I didn't play hockey, because my friend, John, had caught the puck in his mouth, and the blank space it left wasn't cool.

Eating was a favorite pastime around Christmas. One of the best places to hang out at this time was at Bob and Donnie's house. Their Uncle Marco was a chef aboard one of the Great Lakes ships, and the dishes he served us were over the top. These were, perhaps, outdone by Bob and Donnie's grandmother on North Cedar Street. I'm not sure what she served, (a noodle dish), but I know that I ate so much, that I didn't want to move for a week.

Another great eating party was held at Andy and Art's house on New Years Day. Their dad, John, was a commercial fisherman out of Whitefish Point. Chick and Clarise would assist, as they prepared lobster, shrimp, scallops, assorted fish and all the fixings. This was another time that I ate far more than I should have.

Over the years, I have tried to emulate some of those traditions. Now that I live downstate, I have negotiated with local butchers for the preparation of potato sausage. One time, I ordered the potato sausage from Vollworth's out of Marquette, and they shipped it to me. Elizabeth gave me a copy of what she thinks is her mom's recipe for Limpa bread, and that turns out well each time that we try it. .......and I still have part to my American Flyer train.

This and That

by John B. Anderson

Chuck was a happy-go-lucky guy. He had a pretty girlfriend, a nice car, and his dad was a state cop. Chuck was a couple of years older than us. Chuck and I shared the same gym class one semester. Right after Christmas, he decided to show the entire gym class the gift that he had received from his girlfriend – a fur-lined jock strap. Chuck modeled the gift for all the class to see, when Mr. Brandstrom came out of his office to see what all the commotion was about. Mr. Brandstrom was not amused. “Get dressed and go to the office, Chuck.”

Later that winter, Dan and I were making our last pass through town on a very cold night. Dan was driving his dad's 4-wheel-drive truck. We passed the Liberty, the Pool Hall, and started up River Street. All of a sudden, a car pulled up along side of us, revving his motor. It was Chuck and he wanted to race. Dan shifted to second and hit the gas, as did Chuck. We were flying up River Street, when I looked around and saw a car gaining on us with its lights off. “Cops!”

Chuck was turning left at the triangle, so we turned right. Chuck hadn't seen the cop car, so when he saw us turn right, he turned right following us. He passed us by Smitty's I.G.A., because, by this time we were driving the speed limit. The cop car sped passed us, and chased Chuck into Central Park. Chuck drove onto the skating rink, did a few “Cats Patooties” and drove his rear end into the far bank of the rink. Chuck's headlights were now shining on the “We Serve and Protect” sign on the side of the police cruiser. “Oh, s**t!”

The cop got out of the car. It was Bruce Neadow. Bruce started walking toward Chuck's car, and fell on his butt on the ice. Chuck was laughing by this time, so he got out of his car and helped Bruce get up.

In the meantime, Dan and I were driving over the piles of snow that the city crews had removed from the city streets. It was good that we had the 4-wheel-drive. We made it over the piles to Lake Street, where we hid for about 20 minutes. We figured that the cop had given us up by that time, so we drove past the Presbyterian Church to US-2. Bruce was waiting for us. He blocked our escape, and gave us, (mostly Dan), a serious tongue lashing.

As most kids are when they are younger, I was somewhat confused about the birds and the bees. That was all cleared up one evening at one of our neighborhood meetings. The meetings were usually attended by Dave, (the eldest), Wayne, (next in line), Bill, sometimes Johnny, Me and John R. Our meeting place was Kelly's corner. We would discuss hot topics like, “How good are those new Creamsickles?” “Dr. Bernier's teaching Kenny how to box,” and the latest cars. Dr. and Mrs. Chauvin drove by with the three boys in the back seat. Wayne said, “Did you hear that Stella was pregnant again?”

Dave replied, “Ole' Doc's been hittin' on Stells.”

Inside my head: “Ole' Doc's been hittin” on Stella.” That seemed reasonable. Lloyd had told us that babies came from pills. His sister, Marcella, had told him that, and that's the truth, because she's a nurse.” I decided to go with, “Ole' Doc's been hittin' on Stella.”

When I was a senior, I assembled an intra-mural basketball team. Bobby and I, along with three or four others, would meet for intra-mural league play three times a week at 6:00 pm. The Manistique City Basketball League met at 7:00. The city league player were the MHS stars of yesteryear. They had put on a little weight since their high school days, so they were a little slower. The players could still shoot well, but they were meaner. The older guys would step on our feet, pull the hair on our legs, and pull down our pants.

After our game, if the older guys were short a player, we would be asked to play. A couple of times I made a mistake and said yes. Now, you have to understand, that the City League play was quite different from most basketball game that I have played. The fans in the old gym were wives and girlfriends of the players. Many of the ladies would bring supper and a six-pack to make the game more fun.

One game in particular would go down in history. Bob was our center, because he was the tallest player that Manistique had seen in a decade. It was a given that Bob would get the initial tip. The plan for this game was that Bob would tip the ball to Fred, (a made up name, and you'll see why in a minute,) and he would drive to the bucket and shoot puppy. Sure enough, Bob smacked the tip to Fred, and Fred started his drive to the bucket. At that precise moment, Fred's manhood, (or should I say MANHOOD?), slipped out of his jock and angled down his leg. The wives and girlfriends screamed. Fred drove to the basket, made the shot, ran through the east door of the locker room, re-adjusted himself, and appeared at the west door of the locker room. He was given a standing ovation.

Loves of My Life

by John B. Anderson

It seems that I fell in love many times when I was growing up. Most of the girls that I fell in love with I'm sure had no idea that I was feeling that way towards them. I just liked girls a lot. This all started about the fifth grade. My imaginary stable included Gwen, Sandy, Jeannie, Virginia, Patsy, Sue, Mary, Mary, Mary, Jill, Nancy, Barb, Jaymee, Emily, Sally, Margaret, and Joy. (If your name is not on that list, it's probably just an oversight on my part.) The last three names on the list are legitimate, because I married each of them.

Gwen was a second grader when I was in the fifth grade at Lakeside School. She was so pretty, but way too young for me. She told me that she felt sorry for me when Bill helped me home one day with a split-opened knee that bled all over. I got the split knee when I slid into first base on the playground. First base was a sheet of steel. We all thought that it was okay to use a piece of steel for first base, because nobody slides into first base, right? Well, I got caught in a pickle between first and second, and ended us sliding into first base. After ten stitches at Dr. Wehner's clinic, I was back in school.

Sandy and her sister, Margaret, lived across from the school in Pookie's house. They didn't stay long in Manistique, but long enough for me to fall in love with Sandy. Sandy was a year older than I, but that didn't make any difference. Ronnie lived just west of Lakeside, and he was sweet on Margaret. He was at a disadvantage, because he attended St. Francis. The girls and their family moved to Milwaukee, where, (reportedly), Sandy became a model.

During the sixth grade, the pipeline came through Manistique. Steve's sister, Karen, married a pipeline person, and Barry's folks decided to stay. Jeannie and Barb joined us at Lakeside. Every boy in the sixth grade was in love with Jeannie. When Jeannie returned to Verdon, OK, she sent each of us a school picture, which we each kept close to our beds.

Sue was the prettiest girl in junior high. (Now, I know that some of you might dispute that, but, trust me, she really was.) Sue and I always had a good time in Mr. Barnard's study hall. You remember Mr. Barnard, the music teacher. He and his briefcase bobbed when he walked. His son, on the other hand, walked like the Cro-Magnon man. I believe that they gave inspiration to “Crazy Walks” on “Monty Python's Flying Circus.” Anyway, Sue and I, (and others), used to play “Dirty Dictionary” in Mr. Barnard's study hall. To explain: The only time that we were permitted to leave our seats in study hall, was to look up a word in the giant dictionary, located at the far side of the room. I would go to the dictionary, and find a dirty word, such as “tit.” I would write on a small note, “page 1400,” then pass the note to Sue. Sue would go to the dictionary, find page 1400, and the word, giggle, then she would find a word for me. Her note to me was, “page 261.” I would go to the dictionary and find page 261 and “cock.” We involved many more kids in this game.

One day in Mr. Barnard's study hall, I spotted a spider crawling across the floor. I picked it up and threw it on Sue's book. She screamed, “Jesus Christ!” Mr. Barnard had seen me do it, so he sent me to the principal, Mr. Dissinger's office. When I walked through the office door, Mr. D. was busy doing something at his desk. I waited until he had finished his task. He looked up and said, “Oh John, how did you boys do at the Garden Basketball Tournament last night?”

I answered, “We won the tournament by beating Nahma and Garden handily, but we had a tough time with St Francis. They had some really good players, like Rubick and Poupor.”

Mr. D, replied, “But just think, they'll be with us in high school.” Just then, the bell rang, and Mr. D. said, “I'm sorry, why did you come to the office?”

I said, “My pencil broke, and I wondered if I could borrow one of yours?” I smiled at Mr. Barnard, gathered up my books and left the study hall.

Sue invited me to supper one night at her house. My mom gave me a ride to Sue's house, thinking that Cubby and Ed would be home. They were not. Sue and I cooked supper together. We breaded the smelt, put them into the deep fat fryer, and cooked them to perfection. Sue took the fry basket from the grease, turned it over, and the smelt came out in one big chunk. We each grabbed a fork and laughed our way through supper. Mom was pretty pissed when she picked me up, and discovered that we had had no parental supervision, but I assured her that we only played board games, and that's the truth.

Perhaps my shortest love was Jill. She and I ended up at the same tobaggon party one sunny winter day. We were on the same tobaggon, sailing down a hill, when we hit a big bump. We went ass over teacups, and I ended up on top of her. Both of our faces were covered with snow, and we were laughing hysterically. I kissed her. At that point in my life, that had to be the sweetest kiss ever. That was the end on my one day romance, as Jill was dating Pat at the time.

I guess that I had too much time on my hands in study hall. In Mr. Cooper's fourth hour study hall, I happened to notice Barb with the beautiful eyes. Barb was another one of my secret loves. I don't know if I told her in later years how I felt about her in fourth period study hall, but she caused me some anguish back then. I'm certain that I ruined at least a couple of solid geometry papers by drooling on them. By the way, she still has those same eyes.

Mr. Cooper also recognized that I had too much time on my hands in his study hall. He gave me the keys to his car one day, and sent me to get some snacks for the kids on the fan bus to Newberry that night. He told me to also pick up a six-pack for, “Buzz and me.” I never knew that he knew that we called Mrs. Sawyer, “Buzz.” Coop also had me arrange the basketball schedule for the elementary schools. I got stuck with the shortest team, “St. Francis,” but we went undefeated that year. Thanks Frankie, Peety, Jerry, Bobby, Bob, and one other boy.

Falling in love has always been wonderful for me, whether in fantasy or for real. As I age, I hope that I never lose the feeling.

“Chicken Pluckin”

by John B. Anderson

When I was attending the University of Chicago, ('60-'61), a couple of my friends from New York decided to hitch hike home for the weekend. They were upset with Chicago, as a person couldn't buy a single slice of pizza. A person could only buy a whole pizza. Anyway, the two hiked out to New York and back to Chicago over the weekend. They survived by grabbing a sandwich at “Horn and Hardart's” auto mat deli, ($.25), and sleeping in Penn Station.

Trying to sleep in Penn Station had its drawbacks. Every hour, one of NYPD's finest, (a cop), would jab the boys with his billy club, and ask them to move on. He also asked the boys what they were up to, and they replied, “We're loitering with the intent to commit a felony.” This confused the cop, so he left them alone the rest of the night.

“Loitering with the intent to commit a felony,” pretty much describes what Ron, Pat and I were doing one particular evening in Manistique. Ron didn't hang with Pat and me all that much, but he was a good guy, he was as adventurous as we. Another benefit of hanging with Ron was that his dad was chief of police, so how much trouble could we possibly get into? The adventure of the night was proposed by Pat. Pat was pretty clever when it came to getting into trouble, and this was no exception. We were going to steal some chickens.

I had read somewhere, (it certainly wasn't “Scientific American,”), that a person could quiet a chicken by tucking its head under its wing and spin it around. The plan was to raid Mr. Alstrom's hen house, and to grab a couple of hens. Mr Alstrom lived on Range St., just behind the Zion Lutheran Church. It was a really dark night. We sneaked down Mr. Carlson's driveway and into the chicken coup. The hens started mumering. I grabbed one bird, tucked her head under her wing, and spun her around. She went to sleep, but the other hens kept mummering.

The back porch light came on. We quit breathing. Mr. Carlson stepped onto his back porch, and listened. The hens quieted down, we thought that maybe we wouldn't be going to jail after all. Mr. Carlson, satisfied that nothing was amiss, went back inside, and turned out the light. We resumed breathing.

We quickly sneaked back up the driveway, ran down Oak Street, and then to the Sand Hills. There we did in the chicken, and attempted to pluck and clean up the bird. Not much success with that operation. We needed a sink. Pat said, “Doc is entertaining tonight, so maybe the kitchen at our house is available.”

Very quietly, we went in Pat's back door and into the kitchen. The kitchen door was closed, so we had to work quickly to finish getting the bird ready for cooking. We were almost finished, when Virginia, Pat's mom, came through the kitchen door. Once she realized what we were up to, she said, “You boys better hurry and get out of her, because if Doc sees you, he'll kick your butts.” Good advice.

We took the cleaned to my cabin on Indian Lake. It was too late to cook it that night, so we made a plan to get some beer, and to cook the chicken on the weekend. I was a cook at the Surf at the time, so I was in charge of the eats.

That weekend, we secured some beer, and went to the cabin. Pierre decided to join us. Talk about entertainment, Pierre regaled us with stories of his escapades around Manistique. The first story was, after a few beers, he bet everyone at the pool hall that he could get his motorcycle up to 90 mph between the First National Bank and the pool hall. He said that he was close to 90 by the time that he went flying past us at the pool hall. Joe Davis, the cop, was right on his tail, as they sped down River Street. When Pierre was going up the siphon bridge, here came Bruce Neadow, another cop, from the other way. Pierre hit the brakes, dumped the bike, and jumped into the flume. Pierre thought that the cold water would sober him up, and if the police didn't fish him out, he would sue them, claiming that he couldn't swim. They fished him out. As of the telling of the story, no charges had been filed.

The second wild story from Pierre was of the trial of the two predator teachers. I can't repeat any of those details her, but the story had the rest of us with open mouths.

I can safely say that I'll never steal another chicken.

The Quarry

by John B. Anderson

The quarry was the finest swimming hole of the multitudes of swimming places around Manistique. The quarry was spring fed, light blue, filtered by the limestone that surrounded it. It was a football field long with fifteen-foot cliffs around the south side. The north side tapered off to shallow water, but the south side was 80-feet deep.

This was one of the first limestone quarries that were mined by Inland Lime and Stone Company. The limestone was shipped to Gary, ID and East Chicago, to be used in the production of steel. When the company discovered that the limestone was more accessible west of Gulliver, it moved the limestone operation there, along with developing Port Inland. Without the pumps working all day, every day, the Manistique quarry filled up with beautiful blue water.

Sometime after the quarry mining operations shut down, some folks drove their cars into the quarry. We found a couple of these cars about 20-feet down, but we couldn't dive further, because of water pressure on our ears.

My mom was afraid to let me swim at the quarry. I assured her that, if I could swim at the “Cope,” I could certainly swim at the quarry. Mom accompanied me on my first try in the quarry. She said later that she couldn't have done anything for me, had I sunk to the bottom that day, but, fortunately, she didn't have to do a thing.

Prior to my swimming at the quarry, an older boy, Billy Reno, (?) reportedly did a running dive from an upper ledge, hit Barb in the head, bounced off a rock into the water. My neighbor, Jim, told us about how Billy had drowned, and how he had been fished out of the water. The description made me nauseous and very sad, but not enough to deter me from wanting to swim there.

The city put up a chain link fence around the quarry to keep us out, but that wasn't going to be the case. We crawled under the fence as did a lot of our friends. In those days, my friends and I were the, “Tornados.” (Probably, no one else knew us as that, but we knew who were were.) Ron, Ron, Bill and I dressed in black when we went to gatherings, to let people know we were something.

At the quarry, Ron would do a running dive from the highest cliff, grab his ankles half was down, and cause a giant cannon ball. Bill jumped on my back, and the two of us ran and jumped from the high cliff. The extra weight on my back caused us to fall backwards and crash into the water right on Bill's back. That must had really hurt. Bill said, “Let's do it again. The girls really liked it.”

The three of us dared Bill to bang the sand out of his bathing suit ten times, while he was naked. We all expected that Bill would count to ten quite quickly, but that was not the case. Bill yelled, “One!” All the girls looked, then looked away in horror. “Two!” slowly to ten. We paid Bill the 75 cents.

The quarry was a wonderful place for us to swim all summer long. We couldn't swim in Lake Michigan, as our city sewage was dumped into the lake, untreated at that time. The Cope was way out of town, and sometimes, it was hard getting a ride out there. The quarry was perfect, as we could walk there.

Our swimming was stopped with the tragic death of Joe Greenwood. Billy, like his parents, had very limited hearing and limited speech. As the story went, Billy had attended the school for the deaf in Flint, and he was making good progress. It was said that he also was taking swimming lessons at the school. One hazy Sunday, Billy was seen, by himself, at the quarry, pushing an inner tube in front of him, and swimming up to the tube. Maybe he pushed to tube too far, and went to the bottom.

Scuba divers from the Ford Foundation traveled to Manistique to help with the search for Billy. This was to no avail. While they were in Manistique, the divers also went to the Big Spring, and recovered thousands of dollars from the spring that tourists had thrown into the water. An ocean diver, complete with all the deep sea diving equipment also tried to find Billy. Again, to no avail.

Inland brought in their heavy duty pumps, and pumped the water into the Manistique River. This whole process took a couple of weeks. Finally, Billy was found toward the bottom of the quarry. We still swam in the quarry after that, but there was always a certain sadness around the place.

Rubbing Elbows with the Rich and Famous

“Rubbing Elbows with the Rich and Famous”

by John B. Anderson

During my lifetime, I have stumbled into or have had contact with some folks who were much richer or more famous that I. None of these encounters was planned, they just happened.

Ann Landers: In 1960, The Chicago Sun-Times bought the paper mill. This was a big deal for Manistique, as it brought many of the Chicago celebrities to town. Newscaster, Paul Harvey, was a guest speaker at Rotary on more than one occasion. One day, all of the Sun-Times big shots showed up. Marshall Field, Jr., owner of the Sun-Times, accompanied by an entourage, which included Ann Landers, syndicated columnist. Ann and her sister, Abagail VanBuren, were world-renown advice givers, whose columns ran daily in many newspapers. The paper mill hosted these dignitaries for dinner at the U.P.'s finest restaurant, The Surf.

I was a sous-chef at The Surf at that time. That evening, Nat, the owner of the Surf, made sure that we all had clean aprons and fresh carnations pinned to our lapels. I remember filling many celery sticks with a cream cheese mixture, dotted with paprika as a finish. After finishing the hors-d'oeuvre, I helped Ester and Beverly with the imported Japanese trout, the main entrée. After dinner, Ann Landers visited the kitchen to meet the kitchen staff. We lined up, and she asked us our names, and if we had any questions for her. She came to me. She seemed to me, at the time, to have on an awful lot of makeup, but I was not a person of the big city, so who was I to judge?

“Hi! I'm Ann Landers. Who are you?”

“I'm John Anderson, and I have a sexual problem.”

“What??”

“Just kidding.”

You know me; I always was a smart ass, (emphasis on ass).

James Stewart, Lee Remink, and Arthur O'Connell: “Anatomy of a Murder” was filmed in and around Marquette in 1959 and 1960. This was a big deal for the U.P., to have this huge production in our back yard. It was filmed here, because the author of the story was a judge from Marquette. When our band went to Marquette in the spring of 1960, many of our musicians went to the old courthouse to catch some of the screen action. I remember that Al Brown, the Bunny Bread Man, was cast as the desk clerk at the hotel in the movie.

During that time, Nat put me in charge of inventory control at “The Surf”. This meant that, each month, I had to take inventory of everything in the two walk-in freezers, the two walk-in coolers, the bar, and the dry goods inventory downstairs. Also, at this time, the Dellis's purchased two fine restaurants, “The Chalet” in Marquette and “The Knife and Fork” at the Soo.

One evening, Nat asked me to accompany him to “The Chalet” in Marquette, to set up the inventory system, and to acquaint me with the restaurant. He had appointed Tommy Dufour as the head chef at “The Chalet.” It was always fun to talk to Tommy. Nat and Tommy had other business to discuss, so I hung out at the bar. It was a slow night, and I was the only person at the bar, sipping at my Coke. The bartender asked, “Have you ever met a movie star?”

“No, of course not.”

“Would you like to meet a couple tonight?”

“I'd be too scared.”

“That's Jimmie Stewart, Lee Remink, and another star over at the far table. Go over and say 'Hello'. Everyone else does. They really don't mind.”

I screwed up my courage and walked across the dining room to their table. I can't remember what they said or what I said. I only remember looking at Lee Remink's eyes. She was the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen in my life. I stepped on my tongue at least 3 times on the way back to the bar.

Bob Dylan: One of my friends at the University of Chicago was Kevin Krown. Kevin was a folk singer promoter from New York, who had reportedly rented Canegie Hall three times by the time he was sixteen. Kevin would be on the phone to New York every morning and, likewise, to Los Angeles every evening. Kevin promoted the first folk singer festival at the university, which included Joan Baez and Pete Seeger. Our group, Progressive Insight, also promoted a debate between Captain Landau, a right-winger from Chanute Air Force Base and William Mandel, a named communist, (but that's another story).

Bobby Zimmerman was being promoted by Kevin at that time as well. Bob, a.k.a., Bob Dylan, stopped by to see Kevin on his way to the west coast. Dylan rode the rails at that point in his life, so Chicago, being the railroad hub of the whole country, made this a likely stop. We put Bob up in our dorm, Pierce Tower, while Kevin got him a couple of gigs in Chicago. When Bob stopped back in Chicago on his way east, he had a female partner. Bob thought that they should get married.

Kevin contacted a priest, who came to the dorm to perform the ceremony, but Bob changed his mind. His partner was Catholic, so Bob thought that his mom might object. We decided to party with the goods from the reception. When Bob was with us, we would skip class, and sit on the dorm steps and make up songs. One Sunday, the dorm served little bowls of carrot-raisin salad. We were pretty non-plussed by that action so we gave them to Bob. Just picture Bob Dylan with 12 bowls of carrot-raisin salad in front of him, saying, “This is good s**t, Man!”

Mohammad Ali: I had a seven-year career with Xerox Corporation, most of that with sales. When I was at the Lansing branch, I had a good year, so the company sent Sally and me to Cocoyuk, Mexico, to a fabulous resort. While at Cocoyuk, we and another couple, sneaked into Cuautla to buy some Mexican goods. We bought a large sombrero, a serape, and a 4-foot chicken pinata for the kids.

Here I was at Chicago O'Hare airport, festooned with my Mexican purchases, when I spotted this trio of big men walking toward me on the concourse. I said to myself, “I know the big guy!”

As I walked toward the three men, I held out my free hand, because I had finally recognized him. “How are you, Champ?”

It was Mohammad Ali. He shook my hand, smiled at me, and said, “You white people are really silly.”

Ken Curtis: You would probably remember Ken Curtis better as, “Chester,” of “Gunsmoke.” “Festus” was Marshall Dillon's sidekick. As I was commuting on the weekends, between Kalamazoo and Springfield, IL, I found myself sitting next to Ken Curtis on the plane to Springfield. He posed for a lot of pictures with the kids on the plane. When he got a break, I asked him for his autograph. I handed him my sick bag, and said, “Sign it on behalf of your series, “Ripcord.”

“You didn't watch that awful series, did you?”

“Sure did.” He signed the sick bag.

Vice President Rockefeller: He was Governor Rockefeller at the time that I met him. I was in Rochester, NY for duplicator training with Xerox. Although, Rochester was the headquarters of Xerox then, the training took place at nearby Webster, NY. We dozen trainees traveled by bus from the Holiday Inn in Rochester to the training center, then back to the Holiday Inn in the evening.

One evening, our bus driver was in a big hurry to drop us off at the Holiday Inn. A couple of us asked him, “Why the rush?”

He said that, after he dropped us off, he had to go to the Flagship Hotel, pick up the governor, and take him back to the Holiday Inn for a huge reception. We asked if a couple of us could stay on the bus and meet Governor Rockefeller The driver said, “If the security guys will let you stay, it's OK. With me.”

The security guys and the governor's chief of staff checked us out, and said that we could ride with the governor, (This is all pre-911). The governor got on the bus, and we all introduced ourselves. He said that our founder at Xerox, Joseph Wilson, was a good friend of his. As a matter of fact, Joe Wilson died while having lunch with Governor Rockefeller

We arrived at the Holiday Inn. We fell into line behind the governor's staff, as we shook hands with all the Republican Big-Wigs of Iroquois County. We each got a drink.

After we finished our drink, the governor's chief-of-staff said, “OK., boys. You've had your fun. It's time for you to leave.”

Just then, the Governor spotted us and said, “Are you guys having fun?”

We responded in the affirmative. The chief-of-staff asked, “What are you drinking?”

We left very soon after that.

Ed McMahon: I had just driven a U-Haul truck from Springfield, IL to Union City, MI, a 10-hour trek with a cat on my lap. I had been awake for more than 24 hours, unshaven and grubby. My buddy, Pete, from Illinois, had driven the second U-Haul truck, and I was taking him to the Kalamazoo airport to return to Springfield.

After I put Pete on the plane, I was walking out of the terminal, smack into Ed McMahon's belly. “I'm so sorry, Ed,” when I saw who it was.

He said, “Better go home and sleep it off...and next time don't drink so much.”

Hank Meijer: Very recently, Meijer was opening a new store in Traverse City. Joy and I were doing our usual shopping and the west side Meijer Grocery, when I noticed that the store was filled with “suits,” I asked one of the produce guys, “Is corporate here to check you out?”

He said, “You could say that. Hank Meijer, the owner, is here.”

Just then, I noticed that Joy has Hank Meijer cornered. He asked her if she enjoyed shopping at Meijer. She replied in the affirmative. She had no idea who he was, and was asking him where the tomato paste in the tube was. Someone was quickly dispatched to help her find the tomato paste. (They couldn't find it either).

I approached Hank to tell him that I sat with his father, Fred, at the West Michigan Health Planning Agency, many years previous. I told him that I found Fred to be a charming, gracious man.

Hank agreed, saying, “If only I could be half the man he was.”

"Water Problem"

“How High's the Water, Mama?”

by John B. Anderson

Bill, a friend, and I turned 21 this year. This was a good year by any young man's standards. Bill had satisfied his obligation to Uncle Sam by participating in the “Kiddie Cruise.” The “Kiddie Cruise” was a navy program where a kid of 17 could sign up a year before graduation, join the navy when he graduated from high school, and fulfill his service requirement in three years rather than the usual four years. I, on the other hand, was taking my chances with the draft.

When Bill arrived home from the navy, we decided to practice our hand at drinking, the most popular U.P. Sport. I was the day manager of a small restaurant that summer, with not too much responsibility except to be at work at 6 a.m. One particular evening, we settled in at the Barnes Hotel Bar. I'm pretty sure that the Barnes actually rented a few rooms, but I'm not really sure. I had heard that the guys who dredged the harbor stayed there, but the Barnes made its money at the bar. Bill and I were helping keep the bar afloat that night.

After a few too many, Bill and I decided to go to St. Ignace. One of us had heard that the girls were plentiful there, so it made sense to us to get into Bill's old Chevy and start for St. Ignace. I said, “Bill, wouldn't it be fun to drive all the way to St. Ignace on the beach?”

Bill responded, “Great idea!”

We drove out of Manistique onto the beach, and then proceeded east of town, on the beach, for about five miles. That's when I asked, “Bill, are you still on the beach? The waves are getting higher on my side, and pretty soon they'll be coming in my window.”

Just then, the car died. Both of us were fairly wet by the time we got out of the car. The cold water had sobered us up, so we realized that we were in the middle of George Orr, (GorGor), Creek. We, apparently, had forgotten that there were many rivers and creeks between Manistique and St. Ignace. We walked the five miles back to town. It was now 2 a.m., and I had to be at work at 6.

I met Bill the next afternoon, after I had gotten off from work. I drove him out five miles to where his car was still halfway in the surf. That frontage area of Lake Michigan was just being developed with residential lots, and we spotted some heavy equipment there. A young boy was watching us, probably out there with his parents just hanging out. He looked about 8- years- old and he was standing next to a bulldozer. Bill asked, “Can you drive that bulldozer?”

The young lad responded, “Of course I can.”

Bill said, “Borrow a chain from your dad, and help us get my car out of the lake.”

The boy fired up the bulldozer; in those days, construction workers didn't worry about someone stealing something so large as a bulldozer, so they always left the keys in them. We hooked up the car to the bulldozer, and the car came out of the surf with hardly any effort on the part of the bulldozer. The car started right away, and Bill was able to drive it back to town.

Our lesson in geography ended happily, and the girls in St. Ignace are still safe.

"The Woods and Big Hill"

The Woods and Big Hill

by John B. Anderson

The woods in Manistique were always within two blocks of anywhere we were. After school, in the wintertime, we would snare rabbits in the woods behind Wilson Street. I thought I'd be smart as we started for home one evening. I took a different trail to beat Ron and Bill out of the woods. It was getting dark, and I realized that I was lost. I remembered not to panic, (after I paniced), and stopped to think of what to do. Then, I heard the fog horn. Thank God for the fog horn! I followed the sound out of the woods.

Big Hill was always our favorite place to go on the weekend. Big Hill was a five-mile hike east of town, on a bluff near the Soo Line tracks. The view from the bluff gave us a spectacular view of Lake Michigan. I always said that if I were to live in Manistique, I would build a house on that bluff. (I think that they call that subdivision, “The Bolitho Plat.” today.) “Gor Gor Creek,” (actually, George Orr Creek), ran along side the bluff. We would fish for little trout from the creek, using a stick, some fishline, a hook, and a worm. We always carried some flour with us, so we could cook the fish for our lunch.

On Big Hill, we erected lean-to's, covered them with evergreen branches, then put some baughs inside to lie on. We'd make a nice fire outside to cook and to keep us warm. We sometimes took my dog, Bingo, to Big Hill, until he grabbed our hamburger out of the frying pan. That was the end of Bingo's traveling with us.

Bill and I saved a life one time at Big Hill. Freddie Figario, who's dad managed the A. & P. for awhile, had been wading in Gor Gor Creek, and he had cut his foot. It was bleeding badly, so we administered first aid, and carried him to Mr. Walter's Nursery across the highway. My folks and Bill's folks were not available to help, but Grandpa Malloch came to the rescue. Grandpa drove Freddie to the clinic for stitches and then home. Boy Scout training made this go easier.

All the neighborhood guys were in Boy Scouts. We were the “Beaver,” patrol. We were too young to grasp the significance of that designation, but as we grew older, it seemed to make sense. We would camp out a Camp 7 Lake and at Camp Red Buck with the scouts. I really can't remember who peed on the campfire during the Catholic Church service at Camp-o-Ree.

Dan and I used to head for the woods after school. We would leave from Dan's house, walk through the cemetary, over the hill, and into the woods behind Gerry Rodman's house. On one of our treks through the cemetary, we passed the crypt building. The door was open, which was unusual. It was wintertime, so there were five or six caskets inside the crypt, waiting for a spring burial. The sexton apparently got sleepy, so he had lain down for a nap on top of a casket. As we passed the doorway, he heard our voices, so he sat up.

Dan yelled, “Holey S**t!” We took off running down the other side of the hill.

Some of the limestone in the woods behind Gerry's house contained wonderful fossils of ocean shells. Who would believe that the oceans came in as far as Michigan? Most of our time wasn't spent gathering fossils, however, we were busy making forts out of the cedar trees.

To the south of the cemetary were the sand hills. These were the greatest sledding hills in Manistique. Every kid in Lakeside had spent many hours sledding down these slopes. To the east were slides known as the, “Nutcracker,” and the, “Mankiller.” Each was true to its name.

Many years after I had left Manistique, I attended a housing conference in Madison, WI. After a day filled with housing presentations, I found myself in an all-nude bar, sitting next to one of the presenters from Housing and Urban Development, (HUD). Augie Johansson and I were on our third beer, when Augie said that he had funded a housing project in Manistique. He said it was called the Cherry Hill Apartments.

I stood up and exclaimed, “You're the son-of-a bitch!”

“What did I do?” Augie wondered.

“You distroyed the best sledding hill in Manistique!”

Augie apologized, then bought me another beer.

_______________________________________________________________________

When Dan was old enough to drive, he drove us to his grandmother's cabin on Straits Lake. That Willis Jeep truck could go anywhere. Sometimes Dan would cut it just a little close, and knock off the truck's fender. We'd had to stop and bolt it back on. We chased the geese off Cookson Lake, and chased the ducks off Indian River. We even investigated some abandoned camps. Dan and I almost built a duck blind near Thompson, but that's another story.

"The Oak Theater"

“The Oak Theater”

by John B. Anderson

The Oak Theater provided a place to take a date in Manistique. The only other option in town was to go parking, and, on a perfect date night, we could do both. The theater schedule was: Sunday and Monday – an academy award, blockbuster movie, such as “High Noon” with Gary Cooper, “To Hell and Back” with Audie Murphy, “Shane” with Alan Ladd, “South Pacific” and “Dancing in the Rain; Tuesday through Thursday – Class B movies; then on Friday and Saturday – Cowboy and Jungle Movies. My first movie experiences were limited to Saturday afternoon matinées. First movie favorites included Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, with Gabby Hayes, (not to mention Trigger), Gene Autry and his horse Champion, with Pat Butrum, Rocky Allen Lane, Lash LeRue, Tim Holt with Chito Rafferty, Hopalong Cassidy, and Johnny Mack Brown, (toward the end, we called him, “Fatty Mack Brown.”) Rocky Allen Lane was my favorite, because he didn't sing. Tim Holt and Gene Autry movies were shot in Ektrachrome, a kind of purple. The rest were black and white, except for Roy and Dale. They were shot in Technicolor.

Except for the Saturday matinées, the movies were preceded by Movietone News , when we were given an update on the war effort. (It seems as if we're always at war.) There were ads as well, “Curran Chevrolet – Let us serve your car and truck needs.”

Many times there was a serial movie in between the first and second shows. Superman vs. Luthor was a good one. (Later, they changed his name to “Lex Luthor.” The second movie could be Bomba or Jungle Jim. Jungle Jim was played by the former Tarzan, who had since gotten too fat to play Tarzan anymore. Jungle Jim was forever falling into quicksand, but Cheeta would throw him a log to rescue him. Jungle Jim couldn't seem to remember where that quicksand pond was, as he kept falling into it.

The three scheduled program changes at the movies provided Buster Lanier an opportunity for three adventures each week. Buster had missed no movies that had come to Manistique. One Tuesday evening, Buster couldn't find anyone to go with him so he asked me. My mom was reluctant to let me go, week night and all, but she caved in. Before we got to the theater, Buster showed me his latest invention. He had cut a metal coat hanger into a one foot length. He had bent it twice, to form three sides of a square, each side 4 inches long. Across the fourth side, had had strung two rubber bands with a 1 inch washer in the middle. A FART MACHINE! After the movie had started, Buster wound up the machine, and sat on it. Buster waited for a quiet scene in the movie, then lifted up slowly. Brrrrrrrrt! I let out a, “Geeze!!” People from four rows around us found other seats. I seemed to remember that, after we had constructed our own version of the machine, Ron, a friend, worked this bit of magic about a week later.

The theater warden was Rose. She had a big flashlight, and we were pretty sure that she would use it on us, if we were too rowdy. There seemed to be assigned seating at the Oak. Lovers sat in the back of the orchestra level, the kids sat in front of the posts, and the high school and adults sat in the balcony. When the Oak showed “The Miracle at Fatima,” all the nuns from St. Francis sat in one row in the balcony. I can't tell you what that looked like with all those habits in a row.

Other entertainment features came to the Oak Theater. Once a year, the price of admission was a can of food. Every movie for that can of food was a cartoon or the Three Stooges. My dad tells me that every time the theater showed the Three Stooges, parents would bring their kids to the drugstore to get something for the bloody noses. The kids had practiced what they had seen in the cartoons.

A couple of times, a hypnotist would come to town. Ron attended the Friday night performance, and, on Saturday, he met with Bill and me to plan for Saturday's performance. Ron had been hypnotized on Friday, and someone had told him that he sang a song while under the spell. On the way to the theater on Saturday night, we sang the same song over and over again, so Ron would have it in his head, when he went under the spell again. Sure enough, Ron went under, and he was led to the stage. When it came time for a song, Ron started, “Oh, she jumped in bed, and she covered up her head, and she said that I couldn't find her....” The hypnotist stopped Ron right there. Apparently, he had heard that song once before.

I was always grateful to Duke and Maggie, the owners, for providing a great community service with the Oak Theater.

"The Duck Blind and Other Woods Stories"

The Duck Blind and Other Woods Stories

by John B. Anderson

Dan and I decided to go goose hunting on Saturday. I stayed overnight a Dan's house on Friday night. This was when Dan's house was near his dad's, “City Motel.” We had a good supper that evening, but Dan is one of those nature lovers who likes to sleep with the window open – even in winter. I froze my ass off that night.

The next morning, after breakfast, Dan and I bundled up in our hunting gear, grabbed our guns and ammo, and trudged through the woods toward Stony Point. We spotted some geese swimming in Lake Michigan, just off shore. We started sneaking through the bushes toward the geese, Dan in the lead. I clicked off the safety to be ready to fire. I tripped. The gun went off. The little tree next to Dan fell over.

Dan suggested, “I think that you should lead, John.”

Dan, Donnie, and I camped out in the woods by the ferry docks. Camping out was always a lot of fun. This particular evening, we thought it would be fun to throw our shells into the campfire, then duck for cover. The shot gun shells were as disappointment. When they exploded, they just went poof. The 22 shells, however, were exciting. When they exploded, projectiles sailed all around us. It turned out to be important to remember exactly how many we had thrown into the fire.

Dan and Donnie told me of an outing that included Dan's cousin, Doug. The game this time was to light an M-80 firecracker, drop it into a Coke bottle, and throw it into the air. It was important to hit the ground, because when it exploded, glass went everywhere.

Doug held the bottle. Dan or Donnie lit the M-80, and threw it into the bottle. Doug asked, “Is it lit yet?” Boom!

The camp out was cut short, as Doug needed a couple of stitches in his wrist.

Dan, Bill and I were hunting in the woods towards Thompson, without too much success. Bill excused himself to go deeper into the woods to take a crap.

After he had been gone a reasonable length of time, Dan said, “I think I'll fire one over his head.”

Boom! “Owww!”

“Oh s**t! You've hit him!”

We went to find Bill. One of the pellets from the shotgun shell had ricocheted off a tree, and hit Bill in the upper thigh. It was just a bruise. We walked out to a clearing, apologizing to Bill for the unforeseen ricochet. Bill stopped. “I forgot my gloves back there.” While pointing his gun at us, he said, “You two are coming back there with me.”

Dan and I agreed. We headed back to the crap spot, when Dan whispered, “Run!”

Dan and I ran back to the clearing to wait for Bill.

After about ten minutes, we wondered where Bill was. We called, “Bill! Bill!”

Boom! A branch next to Dan's head fell to the ground. At that point, we agreed that enough was enough.

Dan and I found a wonderful beaver pond. It was on the west side of US2, on the way to Thompson. (There are some homes along there now.) The beaver pond was large enough for ducks, plus a lot of little trout were also in the pond. One Sunday we decided to build a duck blind.

Dan and I were chopping down trees for the blind, when I heard, “G. Dammit! John, come here! I've chopped off my toe!”

Dan said, “Help me to the truck. You'll have to drive me to the hospital.”

“But, I can't drive a stick shift,” I replied.

“You're going to f**king learn how right now, dammit!”

I got Dan into the truck, and, sure enough, I got the truck onto the highway, and headed for Manistique. As Dan's house was right on the way to the hospital, I told Dan that I would stop and pick up Dan's mother.

“No you won't,” he said. “I'm bleeding to death. Get me to the hospital!”

At the hospital, when the nurse removed Dan's boot, blood spilled all over the floor. His big toe was kind of dangling there. After Dan was well sedated, Dr Fyvie started sewing the toe back on. As Dr. Fyvie sewed, he mumbled to himself about the procedure.

Dan, who was relatively high at this point, told Dr. Fyvie, “Doc, you talk like you have a mouth full of s**t.” Dr. Fyvie took no offense, smiled, and went on with his work.

"Stop or I'll Shoot"

“Stop, or I'll Shoot!”

as overheard by John B. Anderson

[This story does not come from my memory, but ftom a conversation I overheard at a class reunion party at Trader's Point. The story was too rich to keep to myself, so I thought it best to attempt to re-tell it here.]

The flood of 1910 devistated everything around the Manistique River. Weston Avenue homes were all underwater, and many of the downstream factories and loading docks were destroyed. To compensate for the spring flood waters of the river, the siphon bridge and floom were constructed. The floom actually lifted the river up out of its banks, and allowed the overflow to escape down the sides. This worked pretty well over the years, but the river sometimes needed some sandbags to keep it in place. I remember such an occurrence in 1960.

The North Cedar Street Gang looked forward to the spring event of the season. After the river gates had been opened wide to accommodate the spring run-off, the day came for the Department of Natural Resources to lower the gates thus eventually lowering the river to a trickle. On that special day each spring, the North Cedar Street Gang, Dick, Bill, Phil, Jim, et. al., waited hidden in the bushes next to the river. Each boy was armed with a pitchfork, a sharp stick, a weinie fork, or some other sharp object These would be used to spear the fish when the river receeded.

Back at the gates were DNR Officer Ernest Derwin, (Ernie Dernie), and his trusted companion, Dobber Dewey. Ernie was no stranger to the annual event, as he drew his pistol and asked Dobber to lower the gate. The river started to receed. Soon there was nothing but a trickle. Many little puddles lingered on the limestone river bottem, each with a large fish flopping around.

At the count of, “three,” the boys sprang from their hiding places, and ran toward the flopping fish. Each stabbed a large fish, then started to run downstream.

“Stop, or I'll shoot!” cried Ernie. Boom! Boom! The shots sailed over the boys' heads.

“He won't shoot us! Keep running!”

The boys hustled their speared fish down the river bed, and they made their way back into town. Their parents were quite pleased at the beautiful dinner that their sons had provided.